


zing zing zing

by Lexie



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexie/pseuds/Lexie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt just can't sit idly by and watch his friends be wildly obvious while thinking they're secretive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	zing zing zing

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for fic prompts and within five minutes, three people had independently asked for Kurt/Blaine Sam/Mercedes double dates, because the internet is a frightening hivemind. Title from "The Trolley Song" from _Meet Me in St. Louis_.

"This is an intervention," Kurt says briskly, his hands folded neatly on top of the commemorative Breadstix placemat. Blaine clearly thinks that Kurt doesn't notice the apologetic look that he's shooting Sam and Mercedes across the table, but Kurt can see it out of the corner of his eye.

"An intervention?" Sam asks, mostly looking bemused. He desperately needs a haircut. Kurt can understand financial constraints, but -- he really, _really_ needs a haircut. Kurt makes a mental note to research local barbershops' quality and prices. "For what?"

"For being _fabulous_ , obviously." Mercedes cups one side of her hair in her hand, then the other.

"I don't disagree; you've officially made me a convert to fuchsia," says Kurt, lightly pattered but sincere as he flaps a hand in the general direction of Mercedes's killer outfit. She beams at him.

(Chin in his hand, Blaine nudges the basket of breadsticks into the middle of the table for easier access. Kurt kicks Blaine's foot, mostly because he can.)

"But that's not why we're here." Kurt leans forward over the table. "You two aren't as subtle as you think you are."

Mercedes and Sam immediately glance at each other, the smiles falling off their faces.

Kurt stabs a finger at them. "Like that!"

"What Kurt is saying," Blaine puts in judiciously, "is that we completely support whatever is going on between you guys, but you should probably know that we totally figured it out and so did Finn."

"Hold up," Mercedes says, lifting a hand and staring at him incredulously. " _Finn_ figured something out? We _are_ talking about Finn Hudson here?"

"Apparently," Kurt says, "there was a shared bathroom break last week while Sam was supposed to be 'running plays' with Puck and Finn in the backyard and Mercedes was supposed to be co-writing an ode to ivory crepe?" He is half-aware of the adoring look that Blaine shot him after he properly used a football term, but most of his concentration is focused on directing the perfect eyebrow raise across the table.

Mercedes presses her hand to her mouth, looking like she's caught somewhere between horror, embarrassment, and busting out laughing; Sam is frowning.

"He swears that he saw nothing untoward," Kurt assures them. "Just enough to come to me with uncomfortable questions."

"What'd you tell him?" Sam asks, looking at him and Blaine steadily.

"That he'd confirmed our suspicions and if he ever wanted to touch a freshly baked croissant again, he had better keep his mouth shut," Kurt says, tipping his head at Blaine when he says _our_. Sam blinks before starting to smile, and Mercedes throws her head back and laughs, her whole expression lightening. "He's under strict orders to tell no one, even Rachel, under pain of baked goods and blackmail."

"You _still_ have his browser history?" Blaine murmurs beside him, sounding both amused and fondly incredulous, and Kurt ignores him in favor of his best friend.

"Thank you," Mercedes says in a heavy exhale, smiling at him, and on impulse, Kurt reaches out across the table. It's been a rough year, and he can't remember the last time they flicked their fingers together and then haughtily adjusted their hair, but they do it now. He can feel how stupidly wide his smile stretches as he lowers his hand to the table but he can't be bothered to make it smaller.

"I actually think it's cool that you guys know," Sam says. "Don't get me wrong, the secret part has been kind of fun," and the grin that he shoots Mercedes -- and the way she looks back at him -- gives Kurt's inner romantic a serious case of the vapors, "but it'll be nice to actually be able to call you my girlfriend in front of somebody once in a while."

"For the record, in exchange for our silence, we're demanding double dates," Kurt informs them.

"He's demanding," Blaine says, dipping his breadstick in the pot of sauce. "I don't have any demands. I'm Switzerland in this scenario." Kurt absently pats his shoulder.

"Rachel and Finn are acceptable company, but they're still in the just-got-back-together stage of the relationship where every time I turn around, they're sucking on each others' faces, and I just don't need that in my daily life," Kurt says matter of factly and Blaine starts to laugh around a mouthful of bread, probably because he has been subjected to almost as much enthusiastic heterosexuality in the past few weeks as Kurt has.

"Honey, _nobody_ needs that in their life," Mercedes assures him, fervent and frank, and Sam is just grinning at all of them, leaning back now with his arm spread casually across the back of the booth.

"And I don't think Tina and Mike ever got _past_ that particular stage," Kurt finishes, pleased.

"Oh my God," Mercedes commiserates. " _So_ much PDA; it's amaz--"

"Uh, is that Santana?" Blaine breaks in, pointing at the very familiar head that is just outside the front window. She has her back to the restaurant and seems to be forcefully gesticulating at someone in the parking lot, ponytail snapping with the force of her sass.

"Crap," says Sam, which was Kurt's general thought as well; Santana seems to have kept Karofsky's secret admirably, but it's the one and only juicy piece of information that Kurt can ever remember her taking such care with. Glee solidarity or not, there's no way that the girl who was the first to break the news of Brittany Pierce Pregnancy Scare 2011 will pass up on something like Mercedes dating her ex-boyfriend.

"Swap," Blaine says, and Mercedes is watching the entrance with something like unhappy resignment and Sam looks confused, but God, Kurt really, really loves Blaine.

"Up," Kurt orders briskly, crooking his fingers at Sam even as he slides out of his and Blaine's shared side of the booth. "Up, up." He has just settled his hip against Mercedes's, Sam jumping in beside Blaine, when the bell over the front door rings and he can distinctly hear the girl behind the hostess's podium mutter something obscene.

"Mamacita's home, suckers," Santana's voice calls. Sam shakes his head and Blaine looks kind of intrigued, which is a reaction that Kurt really, really needs to train out of him, for Blaine's own safety.

When she rounds the corner, Kurt has to admit to himself that he's impressed by just how short and tight of a skirt Santana has managed to find. "I'd stop to have some girltalk but I just spent four hours getting free mochas out of the hottie with the body at the Lima Bean and I needs to powder my nose," Santana says, barely slowing down enough to grab a breadstick off their table with startling speed and dexterity. She uses it to point emphatically back at them as she heads for the bathroom. "But I'm coming back and those sticks are _mine_ , y'all. M-i-n-e." The ladies' room door slams behind her.

"Oh my God," says Kurt. "What have we done to deserve this."

"I think she's hilarious," Blaine says, grinning, and the other three all groan.

"Kurt definitely hasn't told you enough stories," Sam says, and then they're talking, and Kurt is perfectly happy to let that happen for a minute; to watch Sam gesture with his hands and Blaine pull dubious faces and laugh. There's something amazing about seeing Blaine with his friends. Kurt doesn't think he's ever going to get enough of it.

"It doesn't bug you that I didn't tell you, about Sam, does it?" Mercedes asks after a minute, her voice low. "I _know_ I should've, Kurt, but I've been watching glee club drama from the sidelines for _way_ too long now, and we want to see--" She sighs. "What we can have, you know? Before everybody else starts trying to get all up in our business."

"Are you happy?" Kurt asks, reaching for her hand where it's resting on her knee.

Her slow smile is all the answer that he needs, but she nods, too. "He's _really_ sweet, Kurt," she tells him, even quieter.

He squeezes her hand and they share a conspiratorial smile. "Then I'm happy for you." Now that he knows just how amazing it is to have someone, Kurt wants it for the entire world. He's fully confident that if everyone had a love affair as camera-ready perfect as his and Blaine's, there would be no war and no zebra-patterned prom dresses with ribcage cutouts and hot pink piping. And he wants that kind of giddiness for the entire general population, but he especially wants it for Mercedes.

(It's easy to be magnanimous and all-knowing now; Blaine helped talk Kurt down from his _how could she not **tell me**?_ ledge of wounded affront two weeks ago.)

"And I expect full details at some point in the near future." He points at Mercedes with every bit of seriousness in his body. "The _very_ near future."

"Obviously," Mercedes laughs, and Kurt has about half a second to smile with her and appreciate the fact that the two of them are sitting in a booth with their boyfriends; they both have sweet, funny, disgustingly attractive _boyfriends_.

Then Blaine and Sam are loudly cracking up across the table; Santana drags up a chair and demands to know what's so droll, trying to steal another breadstick as Mercedes blocks her with a menu, and Kurt lightly nudges at someone under the table. He's aiming for Blaine, but he honestly doesn't care who he hits.

* * *

Kurt is lying on his stomach on Rachel's bed, flipping through her really quite impressive collection of Broadway standards and classic film soundtracks on vinyl, when her cell phone chimes. "Kurt! You can't take all day!" she chastises, laughing. She leans away from the record pile to reach for her phone. "I for one would like to choose our duet at some point before the first wise-yet-mysterious, proudly-earned age lines begin to form at the corners of my eyes."

"You can't rush genius, Rachel," Kurt tells her, inspecting the sleeve of the _Meet Me in St. Louis_ soundtrack. "And I'm pretty sure there's a serum for that."

Giggling, she flops back down beside him, pink bedazzled cell phone in hand -- then she goes suddenly, ominously silent.

Kurt frowns at Judy Garland's face. He glances to the side. Rachel is staring at her phone, her eyebrows furrowed and her head tilted. Kurt rocks his weight on his elbows so he can bump her shoulder with his. "Earth to Rachel Berry," he says. "What's the matter?"

"I just got the _strangest_ text from Mercedes," Rachel says slowly. She scans the message again, her mouth pulled into a moue of fierce concentration.

Kurt thinks about where the letters R and S fall in relation to each other in the alphabet.

"She's never called me her 'boo' before! Is this a new nickname?"

His eyes widen.


End file.
